


Sailing, Sailing, Over the Bounding Main

by athousandwinds



Series: A Fine and Private Hell [4]
Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-06
Updated: 2008-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandwinds/pseuds/athousandwinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Benjamin will find his way home again by candlelight, or be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sailing, Sailing, Over the Bounding Main

"Fiat justitia ruat caelum," Judge Turpin had said, with all the appearance of regret and none of its sincerity. "Ruat caelum," he had repeated softly, his tongue licking round the words, tasting them. His eyes had been on Lucy, half-fainting, half-hysterical in the spectators' seats. The Lovetts had had hold of her and Mrs Lovett had given Judge Turpin an unusually venomous look.

It had been almost comforting, at the time. He knew her to be vicious with a rolling pin, no pat-a-cake pat-a-cake for Mrs Lovett. Now he imagined her taking it to the Judge's head, a series of short, bloody blows, and found it lacking.

The planks creaked beneath his body as he stretched. Around him, other men were breathing heavily, moistening the air. Some snorted in their sleep; this was a pig sty and it stank to high heaven. It was London shovelling its shit into the Thames, as always, only this time they could sail it away. Even the flies had followed them, feasting on the defecation in the buckets and on the floor. Every time the ship rolled, they took flight and resettled. Benjamin, his cheek plastered to the wooden boards, had to close his eyes and stop his ears for fear of vomiting. Nothing was more likely to make you less popular.

"Ave Maria," whispered an Irish voice in the darkness. "Gratia plena, Dominus tecum "

"Ah, shut it, Paddy," came a voice from closer to home. Cockney, but Benjamin didn't recognise it. There was a short scuffle, which ended abruptly when both men realised they were covered in each other's shit. Such an interaction did not endear them to each other, and there was much grumbling. Benjamin, in their place, would have laughed and offered to buy him a drink when they got to Botany Bay. If they both lived that long.

Perhaps he wouldn't have, after all. Friendships in the dark were swift and unpleasant, usually involving the backside. Friendships in the light could be like that, too; stabbed in the back one way or another. It was best to keep himself to himself, at least until he was free and could send for Lucy. Momentarily he wondered if he should return to England instead; passage to Australia would be neither cheap nor pleasant, and there wasn't a thing he wouldn't do to spare her unhappiness.

A fine job he'd managed of that, really. He dared not sleep for fear of seeing her reproachful face: Benjamin, Benjamin, what have you done? Nothing, my love, he tried to say, while his throat dried and his tongue turned too heavy for his mouth. And many a stormy wind shall blow, e'er Jack comes home again.

He'd make sure of it, for Lucy's tearstained face, for Johanna's frightened wails. An ill wind, indeed, but one which would blow some good. He remembered the savage look on Mrs Lovett's face when the jury came back and thought: there is my ally. He would not sully Lucy with such crime, but Mrs Lovett was cut from the same cloth as himself. He would need a partner.

He wondered what time it actually was, and if in London Lucy was thinking of him. She thought of him as often as he did of her, surely. If he were at home, he would be putting Johanna down to bed, singing silly nursery rhymes at her, which she would grow up with and sing to her own children. Barber, barber, shave a pig! How many hairs to make a wig? Four and twenty, that's enough. Give that barber a pinch of snuff. Benjamin had never cared for snuff. The Judge collected snuffboxes, Lucy had told him once. Turpin had mentioned it to her in passing when describing his house: rich furnishings, thick carpets and hand-embroidered curtains. Jewelled snuffboxes.

What a pity I have no wife to look after it for me, he said. An Englishman's home is his castle, but a castle needs a lady. He'd smiled, half-closing his eyes. A queen.

Your wife will be very lucky, Lucy had said she'd replied. Half a world away, Benjamin shuddered anew with the possibility of betrayal. Lucy would never have lied to him. The Judge was a serpent, forked-tongue and all; the snake in the small paradise they'd created. His paws on Lucy

The flies had finally succeeded, it seemed. Benjamin retched into the bucket, his eyes watering from the sharp, sour stench that arose. Lucy was safe, the Lovetts would look after her. She wouldn't forgive the Judge so easily as that, wouldn't entertain his calls or his flowers. She'd keep Johanna away from him, his beautiful, virtuous, strong wife.

"My Bonnie lies over the ocean," he sang tunelessly under his breath. "My Bonnie lies over the sea. My Bonnie lies over the ocean, please bring back my Bonnie to me."

"What?" A quick sound of disgust. "Bloody wonderful, we've got another mad one over here, mates."

"I am no madman," Benjamin said. His voice was hoarser than he'd thought, now he was trying to speak louder. "Only tired."

"Well, ain't we fucking all."

Benjamin shifted; tried to turn onto his other side. It was a squash; the others complained.

"Not if you're gonna sing," muttered one of them.

Benjamin said nothing. He thought he might make a habit of that, in future. There was nothing to say, wouldn't be anything worthwhile talking about until he was home.

The first thing he would say would be, "I love you", he thought. And the second and third and fourth, until he was breathless. He would make Lucy cry again, but with happiness, and Johanna, too. He would bring them pretty things, fripperies that you could get cheaply in Australia.

It was only so many miles to Babylon, he would tell Johanna at night, while she was snuggled down in her bed. See? She would look up at him, wide-eyed. I was there by candlelight, see, and now I'm back again.


End file.
